Lawrence of Michigan
by molten-salty
Summary: In a sleepy town in Michigan, a boy finds an artifact that will change his life. For better or for worse. (TF)
1. Boring Snow Day

**If you could leave reviews, it's always appreciated. It doesn't matter whether it's "this is good" or "jump off a cliff" as long as you point to something that made you feel that way. Anything helps me out.**

The snow fell. And it fell, and it fell, and fell. The gale-force wind blew against the walls and into the room. Through of a window of the two-story, rural Michigan home it seemed to like to fall on given how much fell on it, a young boy of fourteen with wild, curly brown hair took in the white-coated land. Within eyeshot was Lake Superior, frozen over and gleaming. The occasional car drove by, mostly from the first half of the century. From the boy's jacket, he pulled a cast iron ankh, suspended by a tied long string. A piece of paper was put on it with tape, which he pulled off and read.

 _I don't know who you are, but if you found this, I'm glad you did. We need some help. Put this on, get used to the after effects, and whenever you can, find the cave. When you're ready, I'll set it so that it goes back to before we needed you. It doesn't matter if it's tomorrow or ten years from now. I'll do whatever I can to stay alive, now you do your part._

— _D. te & S. A._

He, rightly or wrongly, surmised the people (or person) who wrote the note were loons. No necklace could possibly give any side effects, unless someone was dumb enough to eat the thing. He felt so safe in this assertion that he decided to put the necklace on to prove that it really was harmless. Slip it on, and … nothing. No mystical side effects, at least nothing he could tell.

His mother called him down from the first floor, most likely to tell him lunch was ready. He took one last look out through the window and took off his jacket, leaving him in a red-and-white striped turtleneck. He flew down the stairs to find out what she wanted, and to his lack of surprise, she had lunch ready. Twice baked potatoes. He liked them, not his favorite thing but they were definitely very acceptable.

"So, " she said inattentively, handling three other potatoes to add to the three on the counter for the rest of the family, "Nixon's been sworn in today. Guess we'll have to wait and see how his Presidency goes." She poured herself some coffee and considered, but ultimately rejected having a cigarette. "Your father should be getting home soon," she said. After drinking from her cup, she elaborated, "from work."

The boy did not like domestics. It bored him.

The mother made up two plates, one for her and one for her child. "Lawrence, make sure you don't go outside without some sort of insulation. It's. . .I'd say, 24 degrees outside? Even if it's just the old quadruple layer trick my parents taught me when I was a girl," she instructed her son.

"Alright, Mom," he said, "I'm very well aware that it's cold as balls outside, I won't die out there."

Mrs Abbott set her head in her hand, but didn't say anything more on the subject. Lawrence finished his potatoes and put the dish in the sink, before taking the stairs back to his room to get a wool pair of over-pants and his well insulated leather jacket. Once he was bundled up and gloved, he nearly flew outside. The jacket warmed up the ankh, keeping it from cooling him down. He felt a little prickling sensation over his face, and chalked it up to the cold.

Along the road in front of his house went by a couple of cars from the thirties and forties, obviously cars from his home town. If there were any cars from the sixties, or even late fifties, it would be an instant indicator they're from out of town. The sound of the cars faded as Lawrence walked from his house to the forest on the opposite side of town where a few of his friends were.

Each footfall gave a crunch in the snow and left a depression nearly six inches deep. His legs grew somewhat cold, but thankfully the fact he was wearing boots with his pants tucked inside negated some of that. The rest of him was varying degrees of warm, mostly his chest. His head was the coldest part, and that prickling feeling was still there. By the time he reached the forest, he was red-faced and shivering. His hands were in his pockets, and each of his breaths clouded his vision.

He didn't see anyone, but he did see a snowball headed straight toward his face. Unfortunately, he saw it as it was colliding with him. The ensuing snowball fight lasted for an hour. By the time they ended, they were all shivering and wet. The sound of a 1949 Chevrolet Suburban roared near the forest, drawing closer until. . .collision. The SUV crashed into a tree, nearly taking it down and crumpling in the hood. Lawrence, alongside his friends, rushed to see the scene. The driver had collided with the windshield, which was broken from the impact. There was no saving him.

Lawrence hopped onto the side of the car to look inside. There were three emptied beer bottles, confirming his suspicions. "Alright," he said, "it's best we leave. We should tell someone about this, at the very least." He hopped off the SUV, and ordered his friends to ditch with him, running back to town, screaming bloody crash.

Just a few hundred feet from town he started getting a pain in his back. _Nevermind that,_ he thought, _I just need to get to town._ When they did, he nearly fell down, leaning against a house.

"Hey, Law, what's up with you right now?" Raymond Fournier asked, slowing down but not stopping.

"Severe and spontaneous back pain!" Lawrence yelled back.

He took a second to recover and ran as fast as he could to catch up with the others. They slowed down for a second so that he could get back to them, and they ran all the way to the sheriff's office, where they reported the incident. In return, each of them got fifty cents. They were dismissed, and they walked over to the diner for a soda.

"Hey, Law, your ears look a bit weird. They're attached now, they weren't just yesterday."

Lawrence felt his ear and it indeed was attached. Alongside the back pain, the attached earlobes were concerning. He wasn't dying though, he thought, so he shrugged it off, or at least tried to, He'd have to worry about it later. For now, he drank the soda he paid for. It was cold, but in a good way, in spite of the frigid outdoors.

The January air hit him like a sledgehammer after being in the warm diner for the last twenty minutes, as he said goodbye to his friends. From here, he was at a loss as to what to do. First, he made a snow man in his neighbor's yard. Then, he tried curling with the snowballs. No luck, it was actually a bit boring. When all else failed, he simply walked out to Lake Superior to try to find excitement, and while it certainly looked really nice, and in fact he wouldn't mind painting it, he just didn't feel it. Finally, he just gave up and went back inside, back to the warmth of his room.

Inside his room, he gave himself a good looking over with a pocket mirror. His face was already patchy with stubble, and his mouth was poking out a little bit more. His ears were definitely attached now, and he worked up the courage to check out why his back was, and quite frankly continued to hurt. He felt his tailbone and there was a protrusion. He felt crazy but he almost felt like he could control it with some thought. All that could be done now is see where it went. As for the time, it was one of the things that went. Despite being only nine when the crash happened, it was already three, and he didn't get much done. So, he wrote down the day's events in his notebook, airing his curiosity to his changes.

When he set it down, his hand brushed against the paper from earlier. _After effects._ Could this be the after effects? Or just the beginning? He had to think about it. In the meantime, he took off the extra layers and the boots. He took the opportunity to look at his arm. There was more hair there than usual. Oddly, a lot of this hair was silvery in color, or at least grayer than the hair on his head. He paced around the room for a little before ultimately deciding that he wasn't going anywhere today, might as well fall asleep. He shed his pants and socks and jumped in the bed, happy for the warmth it provided. It didn't take too long for him to fall asleep, either.

* * *

January 21st was all in all a normal day, had it been for the fact he didn't wake up two feet smaller, with a tail. Unfortunately for him, he did. His body was unrecognizable, essentially an odd, wolfish creature on two feet with blue fur. There was a sort of calcified mass on each of his wrists, and his hands were really not even hands anymore, more like paws. Getting up, he was left in just a sweater and the necklace, nothing else fit him. It didn't matter too much given he was now a wolfish creature with blue fur that did an okay job at covering him up, but the gesture at least would have been nice.

As for why he wasn't freaking out, either it was a dream (which it didn't seem to be; he could read something twice), or it was real, and he needed to spend his energy on returning, or at least getting used to the new body. Since he knew his dad was gone to work, and his mother and sister were asleep, he grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil and wrote a note explaining his problem. Rather, he _tried,_ but his handwriting was exceptionally poor due to the fact he didn't really have a thumb anymore. At least it was still legible, so he grabbed some tape and affixed it to his door, some of his new fur sticking to the tape. At least it was easy proof, without them actually seeing him. Then again, it's not like it couldn't have been any other blue strands. He wrote a bit in his notebook, but didn't ultimately have a lot to do. He tried card games, but that got old, then he tried drawing, but he wasn't great at that. So, finally, he decided to go out to get a glass of water. Now that was something that was risky and exciting, at least to a fun-starved 14 year old recently turned into a wolfish creature.

He made sure to not make any noise, which was easier considering he had much less mass. But not perfect. He heard his mother get up just as he was getting his tail through the door. He barely had time to close the door and walk to his chair before she left her room, read the note on his door, and opened it to see if he was okay.

 _He forgot to lock the door._


	2. Domestics Plus

Marion Abbott had warning, but she felt like she needed much, much more than she got. Her son took a gulp of the water in his glass with his paws, eyes fixed to hers guiltily. The only feature of Lawrence that she could recognize was the now shorter mop of curly hair, which was now blue. He gave his best shot at speaking, and oddly enough, despite mangled phonetics from the much wider lips, it worked out somewhat well.

"I put on this sort of ankh necklace, and this happened," he tried to say. It came out slurred and awkward, but not incomprehensible.

Contrary to what he thought would happen, she simply accepted it. The shock of it all might have just fried her logic, but overall she just took the claims as true. Not to say they weren't.

"To be honest, while a small part of me wants this to just be karma, I feel like there's going to be something more to this," she aired. It was just a thought, but it was fairly close to accurate.

She gave him some time for himself, leaving to go make breakfast. Pancakes. She knew, or at least assumed that wolfish creatures probably wouldn't be well served by pancakes, but one time wouldn't hurt so badly. Especially not if she uses strawberry preserves instead of syrup. He wouldn't mind, he liked strawberry preserves. The sound of the pancakes cooking was a comforting sound to her, reminding her of the life she had before this revelation. The day of the Kennedy assassination was to be quite honest preferable to this, but that could be the same shock that allowed her to take this in stride in the first place. The notebook on the counter was filled with questions she had about her son's new body.

Barbara Abbott woke up a bit after eight AM, by this time her mother was already done with two of the eight pancakes she was making, and almost done with the third of eight. Barbara asked her mom where Lawrence was, he was always out by seven, to which she answered "his room. Didn't you see the note he posted on it?"

Lawrence sat in his room, contemplating the ankh's note. A grander purpose. Well, he didn't see any caves nearby. Maybe the nutjob who wrote it meant coal mine? There was one just three miles out of town. He could check there later. For now, he needed to get used to balancing himself with legs that were most certainly _not_ built for use by a biped. He was merely shoving his heel down before, but that wouldn't really work. Leaning forward was basically all he could do for now.

Barbara opened his door cautiously, likely from hearing of his affliction. Sure enough, there he stood, quite like the description he gave himself. He gave a half-hearted wave but after just waited to see what she would do. She gave some thought to that same question and ultimately decided on something totally evil, deserving of the grin on her face. Barbara left the room just one minute later, plan devised, after telling him that their mom is halfway done with breakfast.

Domestics. Even when he has an excuse he can't avoid them.

Not at all oddly, he wasn't cold despite being in nought more than a sweater. It didn't make him _comfortable,_ he wouldn't be comfortable until he had pants, but until then he had to make do. It helped him that his whole body was now nearly the same size as his torso used to be. It did mean he had to roll up his sleeves a good deal though. All in all, he figured it could be worse as he made his way down the stairs, a more arduous process than it really should be due to his wonky legs combined with his height.

He never really took the time to notice everything seemed incredibly large. Even the record player on the counter seemed to tower over him, even though he knew objectively it didn't. From how tall everything was, he figured he was about the size of a 9 month old baby. Around two feet, five. Meaning he didn't lose two feet as he thought before, but three whole feet of height.

The pancakes were good, though, so there was that at least. He liked strawberry preserves, so he didn't mind not having syrup on them.

He sighed. Today was going to be a very long day.

He decided to put on his jacket and go outside. At the end of his street lived two friends of his in adjacent houses. His legs were bitter cold, and threatened to lock up, but he kept a reasonable pace. It took him twenty arduous minutes, but he finally reached the end of the road, shivering and numb in his legs. His body was dusted with snow, and he could use any sort of warmth. He walked up the steps of the yellow house and knocked on the door, hoping that he would be noticed.

The door was unlocked, but not opened. Lawrence tried to reach the doorknob but he just couldn't reach it, so his plan B was to jump up and grab it that way. He was successful with that plan, and poked his head in to check who was there. He looked up at the face of Mr Booker, a car repairman from Alabama, and quietly and hesitantly said "hi", waiting to be let in.

James Booker sighed, head in hand, and motioned him to come in, which he did. He stopped in the doorway, closing the door as quickly as possible to not let any heat out. He said thanks, and looked at him, expecting some sort of order, or question, or something. Booker told him to sit down, an order he took gladly, even knowing that he would have to answer a gauntlet of questions.

Booker took off his vest, leaving him in a cream turtleneck and black slacks he wore over the navel.

The first one was easy. His name. "Lawrence Abbott," to Booker's astonishment, the rest of the questions immediately nullified.

The second was not as easy. "Lawrence? What … you know, happened?" he asked, motioning to Lawrence's body, prompting a sigh.

Lawrence would need a bit of time for this, taking a deep breath. "I don't actually know," he said, "all I know is that I found this necklace," he dragged the ankh out of his turtleneck, "and I put it on, and the next day I looked like this. No explanation, no reason, no sense. How could a necklace affect the body of a living thing?" he questioned, more to himself than Booker, "I asked myself that this morning and so far I haven't come up with an answer."

Booker gave him a few more questions to answer, before Lawrence finally asked him one; "where's Martin?" Martin being Booker's 17 year old son.

Booker didn't know, but he guessed he was probably at the shop.

Lawrence thanked him for the information, figuring he should go down there to check for him.

Booker told Lawrence about a biologist he had met in 1953, and suggested that he take a look at him. Lawrence agreed and told him he'd ask his mother about it, he really wanted to have some answers, even if it's not quite answers to "how this happened."

Before Lawrence left, Booker handed him a thermos he forgot the last time he came over, with hot sweet tea in it. He knew that Lawrence liked his tea last time he made it, but it was very cold out, and iced tea wouldn't do at all. Lawrence thanked him for the drink, and jumped up to open the door, shivering against the cold. He turned toward his right, and took the much smaller journey to his friend Deborah's house, each crunch of the snow reminding him of the bad decisions he's made in his life.

The Stockers' front door was more forgiving. With a doorknob at only three feet high, as opposed to four, he would be able to open it without jumping. However, that would be rude, so he knocked on the door. Since he was only barely even able to move his 'um, toes?', he used the calcified mass on his right wrist. Bit of a mistake. As it turns out, there were nerve endings there, and not expecting it made it far worse. But at least it made a sound, being in the snow with freshly dulling legs was still the worse experience by far. He moved out so that whoever answered the door could see through the peep hole. On the bright side, it was only two minutes before the door unlocked and opened. Deborah Stocker stood in the doorway, instantly recognizing the jacket and turtleneck as being Lawrence's.

Rather than immediately ask the more compelling question, she asked "well, where'd you get those from?"

Lawrence sighed. "I've had them all this time. I'll explain if I can come inside." He noticed that he didn't say that with as much voice as he had before, it came out slightly breathier and his vocal chords shook less. He didn't do that on purpose, but it was something to keep an eye on.

She threw her hands up and allowed him to come in, unchallenged, or rather, at first. Much like before, he had to answer a barrage of questions that started with who he was.

"So, you just woke up as a wolfish creature?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Lawrence looked at her, then back at himself. "I really don't have the beginnings of a clue. If mom lets me, Martin's dad knows a biologist who'd be willing to look me over."

She asked a barrage of questions much like Booker earlier. Even boring old regular life seemed like it was really good compared to this, if this was what fate ordained he had to do for the rest of it. Not a single question was particularly noteworthy, but after the gantlope was finished, she seemingly became herself again. They started talking, and he brought up the story of the crashed SUV.

"And that's when you first noticed this happening?"

"A little bit after, actually, as I was running. I didn't know it at the time but I felt my tail growing out."

Deborah felt some pity for him, he is going to have some major problems with the new shape. She moved closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him. An appreciable effort, and it did somewhat help, but not a great deal.

"Did you already tell Martin about this?"

"Not yet." He wasn't about to walk to the other side of town to find the car repair shop. "I was just going to wait until he got to his house." There was no situation that would warrant him going out and walking in sub-freezing snow for thirty minutes without shoes or even pants.

She understood, even if she wouldn't have made the same decision. "Do you want me to take you, or are you fine with waiting?"

"I can wait, it's not that bad, but if you really, really wanted to, I suppose I can't stop you from taking me over there."

Lawrence shrugged. "Look, if you wanted to. There's no real reason for me not to, I guess." He scratched at the back of his neck and tried to give a look of indifference to the idea, although he was really somewhat open to it. It would beat out walking, not in itself a hard thing to do.

"Here, how about this? Your dad comes home and you let him in on this, then I take you over?"

Lawrence figured compromise would work, and agreed.

Twenty-five minutes later, he was finally back at his home, nearly at two PM already. His mother was nearly done with lunch, which was good, because he did quite a distance. Relatively speaking, that is, to a normal human it would have been a short walk.

In fact, it all kind of sucked actually. Unless he got to blow things up or conjure things out of thin air, this experience was entirely drawbacks. He figured it would probably be harder to take it back, though. Over all, he wouldn't do this again if he had the choice.

His father wouldn't be back until three-fifteen, so he had time. He finished dinner—steak and potatoes (he noticed this theme at the age of six, but never really cared to questioned it)—and had thirty minutes to spare. During the meal, Lawrence told Marion about the offer Booker gave of an examination by a biologist. She saw no reason not to as long as she was able to be there during it. So, after the dinner and proposal he did what anyone his age would do, went up the second floor and put on the Monkees' _Valleri_ on the top floor record player, set to a volume where he would mostly be the one to hear it.

It's just a shame that only lasted for two minutes.

He turned to his next favorite activity: imagining 1972. He sort of knew what adulthood was like in a peripheral way from all the bureaucracy he had to put up with in the recent years, but he knew he didn't _really_ know how many times he would hear 'please take a ticket and wait in line'. All he figured that would change would be that he'd see more junker '50s cars here, and that he'd also see a handful more bell-bottomed slacks. Other than that he really didn't have the foresight to imagine what might be invented between now and then.

Maybe they'd invent cheap pocket calculators.

That would be interesting, and a major lifesaver to high schoolers everywhere. _Shame he'd never get a chance to use it, though._

Everything seemed like it would be possible on March 16, 1972..

He'd love to find out.

And so he lay there for fifteen minutes, after which his mind crashed back to Earth and he remembered he'd become a wolfish creature. He might grow to three feet tall by his eighteenth birthday, which was something he didn't like to think about.

But he kinda had to. He had no guarantee he was going back.

From the front yard, the horn of their 1954 Hudson Hornet blared. His father was home. He'd face him, which wasn't actually that bad of a thought right now. When he got rashes, his father was cool about it. When he needed some toilet paper, he was right there with it. What reason was there for him to not act the same when his son was diminished to a non-human?


End file.
